Troubleshooters (Jackson Chase Novella Book 2) by Connor Black Read Free Book Online

the number of possible calls was extremely small. It was rather simple to find the phone that triggered the device.”
    “Can you locate it now?” asked Sterba.
    “She doesn’t have to,” I said.
    “Aw, shit,” Sterba said, realizing that the phone used was sitting right on Chen’s desk. And this was in complete conflict with our instincts telling us that the delightful Mrs. Asha and her daughter were innocent.
    Sterba nodded. “What else do you have, Haley?”
    “I was able to find the IMEI numbers—the identification numbers unique to each handset—in the cell switch data. Unfortunately, they are disposable phones. Burners. There’s no relationship between them that I’ve been able to see.”
    “I think we could have guessed that, Haley. We all saw plenty of burner phones in the sandbox.”
    “Bear with me,” she replied. “The other identifier in a mobile phone is the ICCID on the SIM card that allows a phone to connect. The ICCID is like a serial number for a SIM card, and it’s shared with the cell switch as well.”
    “OK,” Sterba said, encouraging her to continue.
    “I ran the ICCIDs for the detonator phone and the one from the bakery through a few databases, and came up with nothing. They were ghosts.”
    “You said ‘were’?” I asked.
    She nodded. “I asked the NSA for access to some of their larger databases, and permission was granted almost immediately. Seems Director Nichols was true to his word that we would have access to anything we needed.”
    “He’s a Ranger. If you can’t trust a Ranger, who can you trust?” Sterba asked no one in particular.
    “On the NSA system, I had a hit. It turns out the reason the SIM cards weren’t showing up in any of my earlier searches was because they were stolen. Three months ago, Somali pirates captured a freighter off the coast. A pallet of SIM cards making their way from Malaysia to Europe was among the items stolen from the ship’s cargo.
    “The pallet was a European startup’s first production run, and the loss put them out of business. All support was shut down, and the cards simply hit the market in an unlocked state. They became as good as gold on the East African black market.”
    “The terrorists’ own unlimited calling plan?”
    “Exactly,” Chen replied.
    “It looks like what we need to do is find who else in town is using SIM cards from this batch,” I said.
    Chen rubbed her eyes and then replied, “Yes. The NSA computers are churning through the data now, but it’s going to take a while.”
    It was clear the jet lag had caught up with her, and I realized I was fighting the same weariness. It was early evening, and with the time change none of us would be thinking clearly very soon.
    “Let’s call it for the day. Quick dinner and then some rack time.”

8
    W e woke early the next day to find a note from Chen on the table in the lounge that separated her room from ours.
    Woke early. Meet at the police station after you have some coffee. Coffee here is fantastic! It was signed Haley, 5:30 .
    After a quick shower, we went down to the café in the lobby. I had written off Chen’s praise of the coffee to her caffeine habit, but, true to her word, she was right. The coffee was rich and delicious.
    After a second cup, we walked the two blocks to the Arusha Regional Police station. Despite it being only half-past seven, the place was bustling. Chatter in Swahili was peppered by the occasional prater of old-fashioned typewriters.
    We found Chen at the same desk she had used the day before. Two empty coffee cups sat next to her computer along with a small, crumpled bag. I looked closely at the label: Asha Bakery . I raised my eyebrows at Chen.
    “Better watch out. Last batch exploded,” I said.
    Chen smiled. “Mrs. Asha came earlier this morning to ask Kahembe what he’d found out about the boys. Came in with a big smile and some treats for the policemen.”
    “Only to find herself locked up?” Sterba asked.
    “No. I